Weary
by pkfloyd94
Summary: An exhausted House with a hint of pain, a dash of misery and a hand full of vicoden. Later chapters will include some interesting dreams. *Please comment* Chapter 4: HouseWilson Friendship : )
1. Chapter 1

**Weary **

_*Writing this took a lot of time so hope you enjoy it. Takes place sometime during seasons three or four (not sure yet). Comments make me smile : ) *_

House rubbed his hand over his face tiredly, grimacing as he felt a title wave of pain afflict his already mutilated thigh muscle. He began rubbing his leg knowing it wouldn't be much help but not knowing what else to do. To tired to care, he let his eyelids fall shut; his head hung ragged, while his hand wearily massaged his temple. Face flushed his body weak while simultaneously cold and shaky, longing for the warmth of snug blankets, soft pillows at his apartment. As much as he yearned to leave, he really had no desire of moving an inch because frankly it would hurt and he was sick of the hurt, the aches, the pain, he just wished he could sleep it off. Though, he knew fairly well there was no sleeping off this pain, it would always be lurking in a dark corner waiting to pounce when he least expected. Wearily, he leant back lying as flat as the chair would allow resting his legs on the desk. Delicately he crossed his right leg over his left, he signed letting his thoughts drift aimlessly. Gaze to the starry sky, shoulders slack he continued to stare out the window until his eyes drifted closed exhaustion finally getting the better of his over active mind.

What felt like mere seconds later; he was rudely awakened by the merciless glare of the morning sun, cruelly shining through the windows of his office. Groaning in response to his rude awakening, he opened his eyes and realized he had spent all night in his office chair meaning, massive discomfort in the near future. Signing deeply, House uncrossed his legs; gently moving his right protectively off the table in a vain effort to avoid further discomfort or at any rate to keep his pain at a tolerable level. Placing his aching head in his hands, he rubbed his eyes. Though just waking from a full nights slumber, the feeling of fatigue and misery had not faded from the previous night. Acknowledging he needed some decent sleep, House with tremendous effort slowly began to rise from his chair, weight solely on his left leg. Limping for his cane he was suddenly stabbed with a pain that hit him out of nowhere; causing him to stagger and nearly crack his head on the end of his desk luckily, the wall was close enough for him to catch himself. Composing himself, he picked up his cane and backpack, limping out of the office almost as quickly as a turtle which considering was pretty impressive.

When finally reaching the elevators, he pounded on the down arrow key impatiently, nearly smashing it until he heard the musical ding indicating the swift opening of the elevator doors. He stepped into the thankfully empty elevator; entity slumped against the wall clutching his thigh shakily as the doors swiftly shut. Eyes closed, head resting against the elevator wall, he couldn't stifle a yawn, the sleep depravation in result of staying up for three days obsessing over a recent case made that rather difficult. The elevator soon came to a halt; the doors slid open revealing the hospitals main entrance. To his satisfaction the lobby was nearly empty and more importantly Cuddy free. House wearily pushed himself off the supporting wall and with the help of his cane exited the elevator. With as much strength as he could muster he managed, much to his own surprise to walk steadily towards the exit. Motivation being, with each step he was brought oh so much closer to finding sweet relief in the comfort and seclusion of his apartment. Nearly managing to get to the doors without disturbance; when out of nowhere, doctor Lisa Cuddy came strutting by with what appeared to be a large file in her possession. She stood in front of him, with a look of utmost determination blocking his only exit, diminishing any hope of leaving as swiftly as possible.

"I'm going home," he said with more strength then he thought imaginable at that moment.

All he wanted was to simply go home, lay in his bed and get some sleep or attempt to anyway. Sounds so simple really but simple has been very complicated as of late.

"Sorry you have a case," she directed in her administrative tone, still glancing over at the file in hand.

"Not today I don't" he responded eyes searching for a way to get past her with little luck.

Ignoring him completely she continued on with her usual rant without missing a beat and began reading the file aloud to him.

"Patient presenting with…"

"Not now Cuddy." he snapped, as the little patients he had left diminished hand massaging his leg in a vain attempt to rub some of the pain away. Before she could protest House limped past her and continued towards the exit until he pushed the heavy doors open, feeling the welcoming breeze hit his face, as they swung open. Only pausing for a moment to take some pressure of his leg, then quickly continuing his walk in the direction of his car.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

By the time he finally made it to his apartment, he was completely drained of all his remaining energy barely having the morale to limp the short distance to his bedroom. With little thought House sat on his bed, kicked off his shoes which scattered aimlessly across the wooden floor, leaned his cane on the nightstand, popped a pill then, collapsed into his bed pulling the blankets around him. Right hand resting over his closed lids he fell into a dreamless slumber.

His eyes sprang open he turned his head to the clock it read **4:45 am**. Frequent lapses of pain and an over active subconscious made his night an unsound one. The pain agonizing, Vicodin barely put a dent in it and when he could actually manage to sleep he was repeatedly assaulted with an odd array of unpleasant dreams that woke him with a start. Eyes still shut sighing deeply, throwing off the covers then gently moving his leg to the edge of the bed and stretching it; rubbing the palm of his hand against his thigh before reaching for the pill bottle. Shaking two pills out he twisted the cap on placing it in its previous location. Head slightly back he threw the pills into his mouth and waited for them to take effect. Then he stood up, grabbed his cane and began walking around the room to distract himself from his leg. As time went on, his pace slowed, his hand clenched tightly around his cane until he could barely take a step. He glanced at the clock it read 6:00 am. Giving up on the possibility of rest, he decided to get ready for work.

The sky was clear, roads dry, grass glistening with morning dew,_ a perfect day to ride a motorcycle_ he thought, mood improving a bit. Then pain, his lovely companion reminded him of its presence yet again, reminding him today was going to be rough. Though he was too determined to not waste the day, he ignored his leg's constant whines and rode his bike to work.

_ *Comments equals new chapter so please give me reason to continue writing.*_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_(I apologize for not updating sooner the past few months have been pretty hectic. Anyway, enjoy the chapter it is a bit short but, the next one will come quick. Thanks to everyone who commented they were helpful and kind)_

As Cuddy headed for the nurses station, she was surprised to see House limping through the hospital entrance extraordinarily early. It was a miracle when he arrived on time; coming in this early only meant trouble when it came to House. She took this moment to get a decent look at him and noticed his limp was more pronounced, his pace cautiously slow and grasp tight around the handle of his cane. The dark circles under his eyes only added to how already exhausted he looked as he made his way towards the elevators.

As House made his way to the hospitals main entrance he realized with regret that taking the bike may have not been the wisest choice; his leg felt worse then the previous day. "I'll have to catch a ride home from Wilson, that's all I need rationalization man to save the day." He thought bitterly. Opening the doors he groaned inwardly, his plans for avoiding Cuddy vanishing as she made her way towards him; expression a mixture of concern and curiosity, dangerous things in the eyes of House. He continued walking towards the elevators signaling he wasn't going to stop to chitchat, Cuddy ignored this and walked along side him.

"What are you doing here?" She said in a concerned yet accusing manner.

"And good morning to you too." He mumbled.

"You can barely stand upright." She pointed out (literally pointing) analyzing him.

"My, aren't we observant today," he responded annoyed by her constant pestering, "and for the record, I'm fine." He added emphasizing the word fine. Cuddy rolled her eyes, obviously not believing him in the slightest, giving him a look that confirmed that quite clearly. House stopped in front of the elevator and began incessantly pressing the up arrow key, impatiently waiting for the elevator doors to hurry up and open.

When the doors slid open House quickly stepped into the elevator with Cuddy right behind him.

Glaring daggers at her, House shifted his weight to his left leg profusely wishing that she woulddisappear so he then could close his eyes and lean on the wall again. House knew Cuddy was a very persistent woman who would continue to follow him into his office and most likely lecture him or worse send him to the clinic. Ether way it would interfere with his plans to sit in his office and do nothing. Feeling a hand on his arm, House realized he had been daydreaming and glanced up to see a concerned Cuddy staring back at him.

"House" Cuddy said voice light in an uncharacteristically calm manner, meaning she was going to get all personal with him, precisely the thing House tries to avoid.

"So, about that case?" he stated deflecting the conversation that would have come if he hadn't.

"Too late I already assigned it to Dr. Macmen" she answered aware of his deflection.

"Macmen's an idiot who can't tell a headache from a brain tumor, give me the case."

"Fine but House…"

The elevator doors opened and House took the opportunity to escape making his way to his office as fast as a cripple could manage.

Much to his surprise and delight Cuddy did not follow him; he smiled at that fact dropping his cane and backpack beside the ottoman. Slowly, he lowered himself into a sitting position grimacing as he did so. He stretched his legs, out rubbing the right one which was slightly bent. Unzipping his backpack and rummaging though it a bit, he took out a book and his always handy vicoden. Letting the book rest securely on his lap, untwisting the aggravatingly child safe vicoden cap then pouring a few into his palm. He stared down at them for a fraction of a second before swallowing them dry. When the pills began to take effect he retrieved his reading glasses from his shirt packet, placing them on the bridge of his nose. He lifted the book entitled complications of the human brain off his lap and began reading soon drifting off.


	3. Chapter 3

I apologize for how long it has been since I last updated this but I have been working from morning to morning to get this thing done. I'm exhausted but happy to finally have this chapter done. And don't worry I skipped ahead and worked on the next few chapters so they will come pretty quick. I want to thank everyone who commented with out you I wouldn't have continued this story. I've blabbered on enough.

Enjoy.

Chapter Three

Walking been walking for a while

How long? No idea.

Gaze wonders about taking in the landscape sucked dry, brown with a slit tint of pink on the surface.

Sun sits high in the sky, the earth somewhere between dead and dying.

Sweat dripped wet and slick off his forehead as his hand rubbed over his eyes.

Where the ground ended and the sky began, he could not quite articulate.

Walks with a lost sense of direction, hard to tell one thing from the other, everything looks maddeningly similar.

Pace quickens as does his increasing frustration, until it ignites itself into a blinding rage.

He begins to run…

Eyes closed, fists tight

Lungs scream as feet begin to burn

Sweat evaporating into cloudless skies, thirsty for the slightest bit of moisture.

Teeth grind, damaging enamel

Hand squeezes leg, tight

Pain reaching unbelievable heights

Knees buckle under gravity's ever increasing weight

Pace slows as time passes

Sweat a long lost blissful dream

Eyes weary barely open

Legs drag across the dirt

Body folds over itself collapsing

Face slaps the simmering sand with a thud

Breath labored turn into ragged pants

Heart beat, a hammer against his ears,

Vision fads

Time in bits now swirling around him under his feet, over his head a mixture of lights some flashing, most staying in place winking at him from time to time. Each one exhibiting its own distinct colour.

Lids lift open, surroundings gradually come into focus, he weakly raises his chin an inch or so off the ground. Could feel the sand sticking to his face.

With a grunt, he pushes himself up with his hands; he can feel the sand nestled between his fingers as they claw into the dirt. Eyes held tightly shut, open.

A warm liquid drips down his face as he looks out into nothing raising his head up.

Then, wincing greatly, he began gradually pulling himself up into a sitting position.

Places both hands on his right leg, his arm muscles constrict as he carefully, lifts his leg off the ground. His face contorts into an agonized cringe as he leans forward and places his leg back down. Air quickly escapes his nostrils in an audible exhale before he grinds his knuckles into his thigh. The next step would be a challenge without a cane. Quickly he shoves his left leg forward before the right collapsed from under him. Total distance one foot, he had a long way to go.

As he continued to take his first precarious steps forward his thoughts drifted aimlessly about not concentrating on any subject in particular.

By the fifth foot or so his tolerance was weaning low, a hand rubbed over his forehead, thumb resting at the temple.

Balance was leaving him as his limp began to drift to the right.

He stops walking.

Blood drips from his hands continuing to slide down to the tips of his fingers, before falling mercifully to his feet.

He watched the velvet stained liquid gradually dissolve away then continued on.

Each step echoed for there was no sign of life for miles. Traveling dust winds thrust into his face, coating him with a thin layer of sand.

The sun beams down into his eyes, his face squints, stinging his burnt cheeks.

Chest aches with the intake of yet another wheezed breath by lungs weak and long deprived of moisture. The slight breeze uselessly warm almost burning.

As he walked dirt flicks up at his ankles, at this point he would starve for anything resembling grass.

Even the air is arid with cloudless skies devoid of moisture. The soil long deprived of precipitation crackles beneath his feet with each step.

The soles of his shoes worn until completely disintegrated, what remained of them discarded of for lack of purpose.

Eyes close, the mirage of water to tempting to bear as an unmerciful heat burns at his skin. Tongue tastes of dirt; to swallow feels like rubbing two pieces of sand paper together. He glided his tongue over crackled lips incrusted with dried blood. The boiling sand beneath him blistered the bottoms of his feet. Even through closed lids the sun's glare was brutal to withstand. Oddly enough, he had no yearning for water, one of the ironic effects of dehydration, a sudden distaste for liquids.

Head light, body heavy as if weighed down by shackles.

Eyes raise somberly upward towards some epiphanic force though are left with no response.

Head hung; shoulders sagged as sweat ran through his hair, clinging to the ends until it drips off, staining the ground for a short while.

Legs shook, he bit his lip attempting to remain up right through dizzying pain. Sight begins to cloud up, difficult to discern one thing from another. Body begins to numb, his feet tingle, fingers of cotton, mind feels groggy, his surroundings start to haze over.

House falls onto his knees, body held up by trembling arms, his hands take on most of the weight.

Grains of sand dig into the skin of his fingers.

House's ribs ache as his breathing becomes heavy and exhausted.

Eventually, his arms give way, his chin scraps the rocky surface as his torso smacks against the ground, knocking the air out of his chest.

Gasping, he turns himself over and tries to lean forward to increase the circulation of air in his chest. Takes him a while to recover though after multiple deep inhalations he eventually does so. Hand still clutching his chest, he uses the other to estimate the damage the fall had done to his face. Removing his hand from his moist chin, he glared at he red that covered his fingers. Rubbing the blood off his fingers with his thumb. Hair resting back against the dirt, he decides to turn back on his stomach. He couldn't stop now.

Crawling stubbornly, he uses his arms to pull his body forward with one arm then the other.

The tough earth rasped at his elbows, grated the tops of his feet. The dirt ground ruff against his skin leaving it bloodied and thin. Eyes roll lazily back, he shakes his head roughly to remain awake, can't seem to regain focus. Vision blurs going in and out of focus; can feel the slight twitch in his thigh, from a failure to hydrate.

Cheek stained red, the blood that had once trickled down his face now scorched dry. The rough earth cut at his knees like chalk against cement, his breath thick in his chest, air thin. With a sloth like composure he continued dragging limbs along, his arms draped loosely to his sides. Stomach bellows and rumbles in a stiffening ache displeased with being ignored for so long a time.

A shiver, quick vibration; he lets out a shaky breath, as a dizzying heat strikes him down.

The whistle of the wind sang in his ears; breeze uselessly warm shakes his hair. _Feels nice_

Exhausted, he rested his cheek on the impervious shale and grits that lay beneath him. Knees so shredded he could barely move them.

Arms, one resting at his right, the other extended outwards, fingers near his face. With blurred eyes, he stared at his hand, his nails were dirt, fingers callused, palms red and knuckles scraped.

Lids half open he barely registers the sound of buzzing. A dragonfly whisks over his head, his eyes hazily follow the movement.

The creature landed on his arm, he felt legs move up his arm, he shifted painfully to get a good look at the dragonfly. The wings were a soft shade of blue, while the body had a dark purple pigmentation. This reminded him of the flowers his mother use to plant in her garden were of a similar colour. As he continued to stare his features were calm, eyes softened. As the dragonfly fluttered up to his nose, his lips rose into a soft smile for he was reminded of a simpler time, one absent of pain. Eventually, the dragonfly flew away, he watched it go, and was reminded, those times had long since passed.

The wind caressed his cheek, ruffled his hair, he lets his eyes close, resolve slipping away. Being half conscious the ground beneath him felt soft, the whistle of wind a lulling lullaby.

He wanted to stay awake, he wanted to fight the good fight as he always had but, it turns out you can't always get what you want.

Eyes burst open, body jerks up with a gasp.

Chest rose and fell with low pants.

Once he realized where he was he calmed down some.

His head rested back against the cushion, air emptying from his lungs in a deep exhales, then refilled once more as his breathing went back to its usual rhythm.

The tension in his body lifted, his shoulders dropped, jaw unclenched itself, his muscles relaxed. Resting two fingers on his neck, he felt his pulse steady and opened his eyes to a dim room. Running a hand down his thigh, rubbing it some, he let his lids lower until they were only half open.

Swallowing lightly, he arches his back, pushing his palm into his dented muscle. Eyes fall tight with grimace then loosen with a sigh from his lips.

Rubbing his hand over his face, he wipes a thin layer of sweat off his brow. Then lies back down, shoulders hitting the ottoman comfortably. Eye lids flutter gently to a closed, he was tired and having them open hurt his head. Placing a hand on his head, he rubbed his temple in a circular motion.

* * *

><p>Next chapter Wilson enters the story! I love writing him and House; they are a lot of fun.<p>

((Thx for the comments Harper Penn, , CacauHousemaniaca and all who commented. I really appreciate it.))

*Oh, I saw Hugh Laurie in concert as Sunday! He was simply amazing, his voice, jokes and piano playing were all wonderful. *


	4. Chapter 4

** Chapter Four **

Hurricane Sandy was crazy and its aftermath has been lots of work especially in New Jersey. And plus I didn't have power for a while. Which is the reason this chapter took so long to post. Sorry about that. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. ; )

Wilson sat in his office chair comatosely skimming through useless paperwork yearning for a certain manic to come bursting through the door. Then he realized the pathetic-ness of that thought and decided to take a stroll over to his neighboring office. As he passed the glass doors of the diagnostics room, he noted the outer office was absent of the team of doctors that usually occupied it.

Reaching the door, Wilson waltzed right in not taking into account that the blinds may have been closed for a reason.

"He…" he cut himself off before accidentally waking his friend from this slumber. The back of House's hand was draped loosely over his face, knuckles bend slightly. Slowly, Wilson headed towards the door deciding it was best not to wake him up just yet.

In as quiet a manner as he thought physically possible, Wilson began slowly opening the glass door.

"I'm awake you idiot." he stated not opening his eyes with a hint of a smirk on lips.

Wilson feeling as though he could jump out of his skin, simply jumped in surprise, then sighed annoyed with himself for not expecting this.

Ignoring House's widening smirk, Wilson spoke,

"Hungry? I'm heading down to the cafeteria to get some lunch."

House reacted to this statement with perplexity.

"Already?" he asked, opening his eyes to check his watch. 'How long had I been out' he wondered to himself.

"I know it's early, but I got tired of waiting."

"I'll pass" he answered staring at an old stain on the carpet. Wilson's offer was tempting, he could hardly remember the last time he'd eaten anything, but he wasn't fully confident in his ability of rising.

"Huh, thought you'd jump at the chance to steal my food." House was anxious; Wilson was picking up on it.

"Not fun with permission. " He answered, gaze shifting lazily towards Wilson, then clouding as his eyes drifted shut.

"House?" No answer.

"House" he repeated louder.

"What?" he groaned feeling rather annoyed by his friends lingering persistence.

There was no response from Wilson, this agitated him immensely.

House deduced from the silence that Wilson was giving him the look. And of course he was correct.

"My eyes are closed you moron." he huffed, gently rubbing his leg. Wilson noticed this and House noticed Wilson noticed.

House not wanting to go into the subject spoke before Wilson had the chance.

"Fine."

Grasping the armrest tight, he swallowed as a feeling of discomfort crept through him. Supporting his damaged leg House placed his feet on the ground as he began to rise. To his astonishment he rose miraculously smooth, he smiled to himself briefly, unable to confine his satisfaction.

Without being motioned, Wilson passed House his cane and House accepted it with a curt nod in their usual thoughtless interaction. Wilson pushed open the door, holding it open for his limping friend. They walked down the hall without a word. House's determination to reach the elevators as quickly as possible was his core focus at the moment. The only outward indicator of pain, being a slight grimace of which the average observer would surly miss, but not Wilson.

Whose acknowledgment is signified with a brief glance in his direction.

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh h

They enter the cafeteria which was pleasantly vacant. Wilson headed to the food line. While looking over his options he realized House's absents. He turned to see his friend sitting at the table, head leaning on the palm of his hand, eyes shut, expression looking particularly pained. Wilson decided to just fill his tray with foods he knew House liked.

House didn't follow Wilson to the food line, his leg was killing him, he instead headed straight for the table. House was happy Wilson wasn't there for he seemed to be having great difficulty sitting down today. Resting his head in his hands, he closed his eyes. Now he regretted not staying in his office, he just wasn't up for this.

A warm hand clasped his shoulder, his head bobbed and his eyes opened. He sighed,

"Not hungry"

His leg was near unbearable today and he had great trouble concealing that fact.

He knew Wilson knew but was glad he ignored the subject.

House switched gears glancing down at Wilson's tray, casually stealing a bag of Lays chips.

Wilson would have gladly given him the chip bag, but he wouldn't want to deny House the pleasure of stealing it from his tray. With an obnoxiously loud pop, he opened the bag, eyeing the contents briefly before beginning to speak.

"Word is the Janitor… he was cut off by Wilson.

"Lou?" asked Wilson.

"No, the other one. He's sleeping with the new hot blond from pathology." he said while munching on some chips.

"You mean the nurse?"

He nodded.

"Wait, isn't she married to the head of Orthopaedics?" asked Wilson now further engrossed into this conversation.

"Yea, and word is she's pregnant." He informed Wilson with a widening grin.

"Wait, then who's the father?" Wilson said leaning further into the table.

"Didn't say, though my money's on the janitor." House stated leaning back.

"How much?" Wilson asked amused by is friends antics.

"Forty bucks."

House felt a bit better the hospital gossip served as an excellent distraction from his leg pain.

"By the way, where's your team? The diagnostics room was empty."

"Don't know, Cuddy's probably got them doing clinic work." He replied stealing a fry from Wilson's plate.

"Hmm, surprised she's not dragging your ass down to the clinic." Wilson said protectively guarding his fries.

"It is odd..." he ponders on this fact while munching on another fry.

His beeper goes off, _speaking of_, "The evil queen beckons me to her lair." He says reading his pager. He gets up to leave, though not before taking half of Wilson's sandwich for the road. As he walked, he took some satisfaction in getting crumbs on Cuddy's beloved hospital's floor. Then, for good measure, he took one last bite out of Wilson's sandwich then, tossed the remaining crust on the ground.

'Something for the janitor' he mused.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Comments are really appreciated and I am thankful to those who have already done so. They were immensely helpful.

Next Chapter: Clinic Duty. Always fun. : )


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